


not my (stereo)type

by sventheolsen



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty fucking Cooper, Bisexual Protagonist, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Is that a thing, Jughead is done, Keven the scheming feminist Keller, Obliviously Supportive Ally Archie, PWP, lap dance, sex therapy, tequila shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 20:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10579011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sventheolsen/pseuds/sventheolsen
Summary: The gang visits Riverdale's premiere strip club, The Rear End. Veronica does not take it in well.





	

****

Veronica is a strategist.

 

She sees people as possibilities, extrapolating the best course of action in any social setting. “Her Lodge Sense,” her father would call it pridefully, but Hiram Lodge could only reduce people to their flaws and numbers, cold hard cash that pushed him into a cold harsh jail.  Veronica pushes beyond numbers, though - she can see the flutters of emotions people think they keep close to their heart, minute cracks in their persona. Riverdale, if anything, was a town steeped in characters who rarely veered off script.

 

Except Betty of course, all shining doe eyes and plush lips and a ferociously sharp mind. Veronica took one look at her and decided she needed her, the way moths bask and fear the warmth of electric lights.

 

She won’t get too close, and that’s why she swallows her gasps when Betty shines just right under bright lights, focuses her allure on half-dumb jock boys, easy prey she can swallow. Even that kiss with Archie really was on-script, two beautiful girls fighting over the same boy - how better to cement a friendship with some rivalry?

 

Betty doesn’t mind her occasional slips, the little thigh brushes and fingers intertwined and too-long hugs. They don’t veer off script, and that’s what keeps both of them satisfied. It’s strangely Kevin, who fits his own script, decides to shatter the normalcy to pieces.

 

“Let’s go to a gentlemen’s club, guys. Well, gentlepeople’s club,” he gushes one evening, eyes alight. The gang was cooped up in the Keller’s, drinking a bit too many wine coolers to forget the gothic nightmare Riverdale was slowly turning into.

 

It’s a joke, and Veronica tries not to stare at the pink glow of Betty’s cheeks as she giggles too-loudly. “You want to watch women twirling around a pole,” Jughead clarifies sardonically, wine cooler hanging loosely in his grip. Archie snorts loudly, but his pupils are blown out.

 

Kevin, also reddened from gasping in laughter with Betty, nods enthusiastically. “Think about it,” he sits up, consumed by his idea. Veronica rolls her eyes. “It’s good for - like, feminism!” He shoots a pleading glance to Veronica, who is apparently the most sexually adventurous in this group.

 

“No,” she responds, face crunching in disgust. “I am all for the autonomy of female sexuality, but there’s nothing classy about a shady, STD-streaked strip-

 

“Okay, no!” Kevin cuts her off warningly. “Listen, I feel like we’ve been living in Twin Peaks, and we all deserve to chill -”

 

“We are doing that, Kev,” Archie interjects, shaking his beer for emphasis.

 

“ _ And _ ,” Kevin continues, “Approximately two and a half persons in this room need a lithe stripper butt shaking in their face right now,” He flops a hand over Betty’s shoulders, who snuggles up to him, clearly uninvested in this situation. “And Betty and I can just watch and laugh,” he finishes with a flourish. Silence follows.

 

“No,” Veronica says, but of course they all sidle into Sheriff Keller’s SUV, Jughead allocated to driver duty.  “Guys, no,” Veronica repeats, used to being the most rational person in the room. Jughead pulls the ignition. Betty giggles loudly, drunk to the tips of her toes. “This is a really stupid idea,” she huffs.

 

“It’s no biggie, Ronnie,” Kevin replies cheerily, as Archie tries to look less excited than he actually was.  Her Lodge sense was pinging shrilly.

 

The  _ Rear End,  _ which Kevin insists is a tastefully subversive title for a strip club, is behind the only MacDonalds in Riverdale. Veronica tries not to think about the many wholesome families that frequent the area. Kevin bounces on his heels ahead of them, shoving aside the spaghetti curtain to let them through. Her eyebrows shoot up at the neon-figure, with an unrealistically large bust.

 

“Kevin, this isn’t a feminist place at all, even by Yonce standards.” But her complaints are overshadowed by the dim violet lighting, the tacky and predictable carpeting, the low walls that focus on the stage in front of her.

 

“Whoa,” Archie exhales, and they are all mesmerised by the sway of dancers around them, twisting artfully around poles, shimmying their body-butter legs across the stage. It’s cheap, it’s demeaning, but it’s still hot.

 

Betty, apparently sobered up, stares at the dancers too, eyes wide and unshuttered. Kevin smirks and leads them to a corner. “I know the dancers,” Kevin stage-whispers loudly to Veronica, waving at one of the dancers. “They come on Ladies Night at Innuendo- hey Felicia,” he greets warmly at the server who passes them. “Five mimosas, please,” Felicia nods, and drops her gaze to linger at Betty’s chest. Veronica coughs.

 

Felicia winks at Betty and sashay away. “They’re gay,” Betty squeaks at him, having gained the capacity for speech. Kev rolls his eyes, “Just some of them. And you know one, you know the squad..”

 

“So this was the plan the whole time,” Jughead narrows his eyes accusingly at him, Felicia-the-gay-waitress passes them the drinks.  “Kind of,” Kevin admits sheepishly, and twirls his mimosa straw happily.

 

“I’m not opposed to it,” Archie replies. Everyone stares at him. “What,” he postures defensively, hunky shoulders drooping to sip his own mimosa.

 

Veronica shakes her head. “What’s the grand plan, Kev.” She’s twenty minutes from hailing her own Uber (god does Riverdale even have one) and dragging Betty so she can wipe that glossed, shocked look off her face.

 

Kevin leans forward. “Truth or dare,” he says conspiratorially.  Veronica hisses through her teeth, although she wasn’t too surprised. Neither does the rest of the gang, although she can see Jughead shaking his head resignedly.

 

“Dare,” Betty shoots her hand up in the air. “That’s not how the game works, honey,” Keller pats the blonde’s head affectionately and subtly pushes the cocktails away from her.

 

“Okay, I vote Veronica kisses Archie-” Betty continues, putting a finger up. “Oh, wait, that’s happened already.” She smiles glossily, and Veronica is unsure about the level of malice.

Either way, everyone is abruptly shut into even more awkward silence. .

 

Kevin coughs uncomfortably. “Okay,” he slaps his palms on the table, with fake cheer. “Let’s do this then. Felicia!” He calls, wiggling his fingers. “More drinks, darling.”

 

Twenty minutes into a strip club and Kevin is of course, twirling his body with Felicia as a demonstration, both Archie and Jughead cheering on drunkenly.

 

Despite how overtly misogynistic this outing was, Veronica couldn’t say she objects. Nor did she mind being Betty-baby sitting duty. “Hey, young trooper,” she murmurs, appreciating the red-and-green strobe lights highlighting the features on her face.

 

She nuzzles her face into Veronica’s shoulder in response, half-pretending to be asleep. She feels her heart loosening, oddly quieted by the feel of Betty’s body against her, the feel of her locks sprawled across her shoulders.

 

“‘M sorry,” she hears as she leans forward to sip some Whiskey and Coke. She turns around. Betty’s eyes are open, and they’re staring at her intently. Veronica swallows dryly. “It’s okay,” Veronica reassures. “I was the bitch who kissed your childhood crush, anyways.”  _ And kissed you technically without your consent,  _ but who’s counting the ways she’s messed up an innocent girl’s life?    Betty’s gaze keeps boring into her.

 

Kevin descends onto the chair triumphantly, face and neck flushed red. “Girls, I slayed it like Bey in  _ Partition  _ and I got that straight boy  _ moolahhh - “  _ He fluorishes some crumpled tens that Archie had tossed earlier. Veronica cracks a smile and lets an over-stimulated Archie and Jughead to take over the conversation. “This  _ neo-noir  _ setting and Lynchesque characters really expose  the corruption of small town representations,” Jughead announces, and Archie nods along supportively.

 

“We need another dare,” Betty interrupts, leaning forward. Kevin sighs at losing his thunder,  “Alright, princess,” he acquiesces. “What dare do you need.”

 

Veronica’s shoulders itch  as Betty shuffles in her seat, considering. “I guess … a lap dance.”

Her eyes dip down and flit up challengingly. “From me.” Veronica had very little clue as to where Betty had gotten her sudden confidence, and tried to ignore the sultry tone of her voice.

 

Archie’s brow creases. “For who? Because I’m not - “ Jughead snorts.

 

Betty leans forward.  “Not for you, Archiekins,” and again, that  _ condescendence -  _ “For my bestie, of course.” And just like that, Veronica snaps.

 

“This isn’t funny, Betty,” she bursts out. “I get that you still resent me, but you’re clearly  _ drunk -” _

Betty’s shoulders sag at the ferocity of her words.  “Whoa, chill, Ron” Archie tries to appease,

 

“No,” Betty replies steely, betraying her sobriety. “I am out here, betraying every single principle in my body, seeing you guys fool around. I want to be in on the fun. I want this.”

 

“Felicia, tequila shots please.” She calls, as Kevin walks over to the bartender to request

 

Veronica’s frozen by the implications hanging in the air, and before Veronica can muster any more anger Betty’s swiping the drinks aside. “Kevin, music.” Betty orders, and a slow, RnB beat fills the club, lights darkening for a more intimate ambience.

 

Betty slowly descends her thighs to her midriff, dragging the small sliver of lime to her own lips. Veronica parts her lips, watching Betty’s gaze darken in response.   _ Why does she needs this so much to happen,  _ Veronica despairs internally as the lithe blonde straddles her hips.  Betty circles her fingers across the top of the tequila glass, trailing it down Veronica’s neck. She feels trapped now, her body refusing to deny what her mind wants anymore.

 

Betty begins licking a long, slow strip of tangy sweetness, licking the salt-encrusted crumbs with a swipe of her lips. Veronica’s good at composure, good at standing still like a Greco-Roman piece, but her breath stutters. “Betty,” she gasps, a bit more wantonly than she intended.  

 

“It’s alright, pal,” Betty purrs, again using sexual allure no one thought she possessed. She clasps her jaw delicately, much like the first kiss they had.  Her ‘pal’ gently pushes the green wedge into her mouth, eyes alight. Veronica keeps her lips parted, waiting for a breath perhaps.  

 

The tempo grows louder, and her lips part wider as Betty begins rocking her hips. Veronica, usually strategically aware of situations, unconsciously begins rocking in tandem, feeling the juncture of her thighs reach a delicious burn. “B,” she groans, bucking her hips wantonly. “I want,” she gasps, never one to lose her demands even if she’s completely lost now, in Betty’s burning blue eyes and honey soft skin and hair.

 

But it stops, like all good things in Veronica’s life. “Wha-” she opens her eyes, as Betty raises herself off her lap and begins kneeling.

 

Her eyebrows shoot upwards as “Betty, jeez-” She can feel the lecherous stares. Despite all her objections to the male gaze, she can’t find it within herself to stop now. “Where’s the aw-shucks girl now, huh?” She deflects weakly, and she can  _ feel  _ the shiver of her chuckle trailing down to her thighs, nudging her legs apart, nosing the hem of her skirt, chuckling conversationally as if this was what easy-breezy friends do, B and V against the world-

 

_ Archie. Friends. Good, long term friends. _

 

So it’s the final surge of panic that possess her to wrench Betty’s hips away from her nether regions. Betty’s eyes mirror hers, lust doused in confusion.

 

She’s awake now, too sober to handle the stares anymore, to handle Betty or feelings she has no right to upkeep. “I’m leaving,” her voice rises harshly.  Betty- Betty looks shattered. She gulps the words lodged in her throat, and she stands up stiffly. “Thank you for your invitation, Kev,” She nods subtly towards the stunned host.

  
Betty says nothing. Veronica thinks, this is it. This is the end of faux-kisses, of sleepovers, of package deals.


End file.
